


Summer Storm

by KiaMianara



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Has Issues, M/M, Pre-Relationship, but that won't stop him, father-son-feels, so has Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaMianara/pseuds/KiaMianara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the night Stiles suddenly sat upright in his bed, or as upright as one could when tangled into their blanket, a single thought tormenting him: “Derek Hale is out there right now”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Storm

**Author's Note:**

> set pretty much right after the first season

* * *

 

In the middle of the night Stiles suddenly sat upright in his bed, or as upright as one could when tangled into their blanket, a single thought tormenting him: “Derek Hale is out there right now”.

 

On his personal creepiness scale that ranked right up there with “Batman using a gun” and “Freddy Krueger is after me” or any thought about Peter Hale, actually, but Creeper Wolf was what Freddy Krueger’s nightmares were about and he was very dead while Derek decidedly wasn’t.

 

No, Derek Hale was very much alive and out there right now, in the remains of his burned down home, surrounded by memories of dead people and walls that couldn’t keep an elephant out, or something the size of an elephant with the strength of a mice. Point is, those walls stood no chance against the wind and the roof had more holes than any cheese and outside a terrible rainstorm was raging.

 

It didn’t take a genius to solve that equation and Stiles was a genius with a vivid fantasy. He had absolutely no problem imagining Derek sitting somewhere in said house, wet to the bones, scowling at the world at large with his default sourwolf frown.

 

It was certainly his most stupid idea to date, but Stiles was already wearing jeans, his favourite red hoody and sneakers and reached for the car keys. Just for a moment he hesitated, weighting the possible consequences, but then proceeded anyway.

 

Not even half an hour later the teen drove up to the Hale estate and sprinted the short distance between his jeep and the house in the fruitless attempt to stay at least remotely dry. Seriously, he was probably the first in decades to actually be in a _hurry_ to reach the house, not to mention face the notoriously ill tempered alpha werewolf with anger management issues living here.

 

He would have to apologise to Scott later. It wasn’t _always_ the other’s fault he got into trouble.

 

“Hello~o. Hey, Derek? If you’re here an answer would be much appreciated, because this place is creepy as shit even on sunny days and got `horror movie´ written all over it. _Here_ , oh great ball of grumpy fur, come to Stiles.”

 

He listened for a moment in tensed silence for any reply, but none came, which, really, not cool. At all. It was possible Derek wasn’t even there, but, seriously, where else could he be? Also, the entire situation wasn’t exactly losing it’s scariness by the creepy old ruin in the creepy summer storm remaining creepily silent.

 

“Oh, _come on_ , dude, don’t make me search for you. I’m a lanky, nerdy teenager, for pity’s sake! They _always_ die when they search in creepy old houses during rain storms. Oh, _God_ , you’re going to make me search, aren’t you? For the record: I will absolutely not go anywhere near the cellar, or the attic. On that note, you really should have someone look at the structural integrity of this shag. I can hear the girders _scream_ in agony. One day all this will come down on you and then what? Sourwolf pancake, that’s what.”

 

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

 

In hindsight Stiles was pretty proud of himself that he neither screamed nor jumped in fright. It was more like he teleported himself a few feet away in the split second it took his over worked brain to connect the seemingly bodiless voice with Derek Hale in all his shirtless, angry glory. It was an awesome move and of course he had no reliable witness. The guy who obviously could do the same and hardly spoke more than two words a day hardly counted.

The teenager also mentally congratulated himself for not being the kind of hormone ridden teen whose mind went blank when suddenly face to muscles of steel. That was quite an accomplishment, really, because there were those ridiculously attractive abs and an actual real six-pack that had absolutely nothing to do with beer and he was sure some museum was missing one of their awesomely detailed Greek statues, because it was standing right in front of him, life, in colour, glistering wet and ... okay, so he was “that kind” of hormone ridden teen. Sue him. Or rather not. He didn’t want to be sued, just commit the view to memory for the lack of other recording device.

 

Stan Lee on a pogo stick, he could have made a fortune with a single picture.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Right. Ill-tempered werewolf. He should probably start talking now or running. On the other hand, he was fast, but Derek was faster, so talking it was and about what was going through his minde right now, thank you very much.

 

“I want you in my car. No! No, I don’t. I mean, I want you to _sit_ in my car. Passenger seat. I will drive, obviously, because it’s my car and I know the way, so you will sit and I will drive. In my car. That’s what I want.”

 

“No.”

 

... Okay, Stile could admit to himself that he had expected at least a three word answer.

 

“No, you don’t want me to drive, or no, we won’t use my car? Because that would mean we’re taking yours and that would be _a~wesome_. Except that my jeep would have to stay here and, dude, that’s not cool unless you have, like a hidden garage somewhere around here which’s structural integrity is not that of a toothpick tower without tons of glue. I _like_ that jeep. I _need_ that jeep. We are kind of in a symbiotic relationship.”

 

“Go home, Stiles.”

 

“Cool, that were three words. At this rate we might be able to have a decent conversation by this time tomorrow.”

 

His father and Scott had pointed out on several independent occasions that he really needed a filter somewhere between brain and mouth and, going by the way Derek Hale stared at him now, he most likely agreed if not in so many words.

 

“Go. Home. Stiles!”

 

“That’s what I intend to do, but for that you and me would need to get into the same car.”

 

Derek roared, half way into changing and burying his claws in Stiles throat and the teen was in awe about the self control it must have taken the other not to finish the move, but still took the time to curiously take in the differences between Derek and Wolf-Derek, because when did you ever get the chance to see an alpha up close like this and not end up as their midnight snack? Quite fascinating and not at all ugly; maybe by some teen magazine beauty standards that advertised impossible and hopelessly screwed body images anyway, but Stiles prided himself in not running with the masses and if asked – which would never happen, he was under no illusion in that regard – he would stand with his opinion. Derek Hale was handsomely wild and wildly handsome in any form ... and pissed off. Right.

 

“Er ... nice teeth? Really, who is your dentist? Or your coiffeur for that matter. Not that I plan to grow my hair out any time soon, but...”

 

A growl interrupted him. Stiles shrugged it off.

 

“Sorry, was that supposed to be scary? Or are you pulling this alpha thing where I’m supposed to roll on my back, bear my neck and submit? May have slipped you mind, but I’m 100% human. No wolf-instincts whatsoever. That isn’t a bad thing, of course, being a werewolf. You pull it off quite nicely, but it’s not working on me, so are you coming or not? I give you a hint: I’m not going to leave without you and you can’t make me, because then you’ll have the Argents after you for hurting a poor innocent teenager.”

 

“Are you threatening me?!”

 

“Actually I’m offering you a house – you know, at least four walls and a roof – towels and a comfortable and most importantly _dry_ couch. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but that’s quite a rainstorm out there and if you stop trying to set me aflame with your glares, I might even let you raid the fridge.”

 

 

No fifteen minutes later Stiles sat behind the steering wheel and the happy tune on his lips was absolutely necessary and justified, because next to him, though hunched and sour like no tomorrow, sat Derek Hale and gave displeasured grunts and growls, but didn’t complain verbally, not even when Stiles pushed him into the house and gave a very brief tour, pulling the door close with his foot. Totally worth the odour of wet dog clinking to the seats.

 

“Okay, so there is the kitchen and over there the couch and the TV. You know how to use them right? Right. Well, make yourself at home. I’ll get towels and blankets, unless you don’t want to shower. Don’t bite my head off, but I really think you should. Do you even _have_ running water up there?”

 

Derek growled, which seemed his main form of communication, and Stiles innocently pointed at the stairs.

 

“Up and straight through the first door.”

 

Almost nose to nose Stiles could see the hairs on Derek’s neck stand up, before the larger turned and with a few purposeful strides indeed vanished into the bathroom.

 

The teen checked his own pulse, rather surprised to be still among the living, but he was and Derek Hale, local alpha werewolf who could “rip your throat out with his face” was in his house to stay the night, using his shower, naked, most likely, and, unless he put on his dirty clothes again, which would defeat the purpose of showering in the first place, he would come out of that room in nothing but a towel.

 

“I’m a _ge~nius_.”

 

Despite himself Stiles did the sensible thing and laid some old clothes of his father in front of the door for Derek to use before getting a spare pillow and blanket for the couch and the emergency pizza from the furthest corner of the freezer. Briefly he let his eyes wander to the well used apron Scott had gifted him once, making jokes about stepford wives, but then discarded the thought again. Usually he would argue that any cloth with the bat signal printed on it couldn’t be ridiculous, but with Derek Hale and his abs in the same house Stiles felt the need to display a minimum of manliness, meaning beer, random pizza (from the deepest corner of the fridge where his dad would hopefully not find it) and no apron.

 

Derek accepted it all with a grunt that could have been a noise of gratitude, wolfed down the pizza and the beer and pointedly turned his back on Stiles when he laid down on the couch.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and wrote it down as a victory. It was. He had made the big bad wolf do as he wanted, but Stiles wouldn’t be Stiles if he wouldn’t run his mouth.

 

“ _`Thanks, Stiles, that is really kind of you.´_ No problem. See it as a gesture of gratitude for dealing with Creeper Peter. _`That is not funny.´_ No, it isn’t, but we was creepy as fuck and we both know the turning is forever. _`You knew?´_ Of course I do. If you haven’t noticed, I’m the smart one here and there are truths Scott can’t deal with, not yet at least, which brings us to the gratitude again, because I did some math and if you hadn’t done it, Scott would be the alpha now and we all would be totally screwed. Give me ghosts, ogre, sparkling vampires for all I care, but alpha-Scott would definitely get everyone killed in a matter of days if not faster. Not on purpose, of course, but we’d still all die. So, I’m sorry for your loss, but thank you for saving us all anyway. ` _Whatever_.´ And thanks for the inspiring discussion, sourwolf. If you’d excuse me now, I’m soaked to the bones, cold and tired.”

 

With his little act closed Stiles went into his own room, not stomping or marching, just going, like any other day. He didn’t bother to shower, but towels were a must, as were at least dry trousers and if he heard Derek shuffle up the stairs to his door, breath a short `thanks´ and shuffle down again, he never said a word about it. However, he was laying awake and grinned at the ceilling for another hour or so.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Shouts from downstairs woke Stiles at an ungodly hour – ungodly, because it was still dark outside – and from a moment to the next he had a whole new appreciation for the bat Mrs McCall always got out when he didn’t take the door. In fact, he was seriously considering asking her for a spare or risk the ridicule of the sport shop owner.

 

He was about to follow his father’s doctrine (hide and call the cops) when his room door burst open and in a blur someone vanished through the window, leaving only Stiles and his father. Who had his gun in hand.

 

“Dad? What just happened?”

 

“There was someone in our living room. God, Stiles, are you alright?”

 

“No! I mean, yes, I’m alright, but there couldn’t have been anyone in our house. Derek would have scared them away with just a ... oh. That _was_ Derek bolting through my window just now, wasn’t it? Aw, _dad_ , do you know how difficult it was to get him here in the first place?”

 

Sheriff Stilinksy raised his hand to stop the river of words. It only worked in, like, thirty percent of the cases, but this was one of those.

 

“Derek? As in Derek Hale, the one you and Scott accused of murdering his sister earlier this summer? _That_ Derek?”

 

“A misunderstanding on our part.”

 

“You brought Derek Hale in _my_ house?”

 

“Well, yeah. It was raining and have you seen that shag he calls house?” Stiles asked back, rubbing at his eyes. Fuck, but it was far too early for this. “Figured he’d appreciate an actual roof and hot shower once in a while.”

 

There was a long lecture about bringing home suspicious people in the middle of the night without him present or at least informed ready on the older man’s lips, but then he deflated and sat down next to his son, ruffling the other’s stubble hair.

 

“What am I going to do with you? I can hardly punish you for being considerate of others.”

 

“Nope. Would totally defeat the purpose of raising me into a respectable young man.”

 

“Indeed. But if I don’t punish you, you’ll get the idea it’s okay to bring strangers home.”

 

“Well, that’s how we got Scott.”

 

“I’m still not convinced that was such a good thing. That boy is trouble on legs.”

 

“No objections with that. You will like to hear he got himself a girlfriend, so the next few weeks it’s just you and me again. So … can I drag Derek in again next time it rains?  Swear he is like an especially grumpy cat and house trained.”

 

Sheriff Stilinsky covered his face if only not to see the large pleading eyes. Scott might be the master of the large kicked puppy eyes, but Stiles was a good student. Then he signed again and pulled Stiles against his shoulder.

 

“I know we agreed to never have this kind of talk again, but I’m the Sheriff and your father.”

 

“That is kind of hard to miss, what’s with you having raised me and the gun pressing in my side … unless you’re a serial killer posing as my dad. Or a Skrul. You’re not, are you? Because that would be kind of awesome, in a bad way.”

 

“I’m not. You know I love you and am proud of you and will always be no matter what you choose to do for a living …”

 

“… though that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t prefer it to be an honest and hopefully well paid job so you can brag about your awesomely successful son.”

 

“I’d write that down as a boon, but I want you to be happy more than anything else and in that line of thought I hope you know that I will respect your choice of a partner independent of gender, religion or what else and not think less of you because of it.”

 

“Which makes you the most awesome dad in the history of mankind and brings us to the kind of talk we never wanted to have again, because they are embarrassing as all hell and last time we couldn’t look at each other for an entire week afterwards.”

 

“Yes. On that note, thank you for pretending you hadn’t already covered it all in school already.”

 

“Scott?”

 

“Trouble on legs, but still appreciate it. Anyway, son, I have to ask: do I need to worry? Let’s leave aside that I’m wary of this Derek; you’re still underage, there are laws and I’m the Sheriff and I approve of those laws.They are good laws.”

 

“ _What_? You mean that kind of … are you … ugn, _dad_ , no, dad, just _no_. I’m not, we’re not … Derek is not my … my _boyfriend_ or anything, he’s not even a friend, barely an unwilling acquaintance. He’s … just Derek and so way out of my liege I don’t know how we could end up in the same solar system.”

 

Sheriff Stilinsky signed again, both relieved and sadder than before.

 

“Stiles …”

 

“I’m fine, dad, really. I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up and I’m not. I know I’m not a good catch and made my peace with it.”

 

“Oh, no, Stiles, no” the older breathed and pulled his son in his lap. That had stopped being uncomfortable 10 years ago and bordered inappropriate since at least 5 years ago, but, damn it all, he was the Sheriff and a single dad and this was his only son and he would damn well hug Stiles as often and as awkwardly as he saw fit.

 

“You are a great catch, the best, and if they don’t see it, they don’t deserve you.”

 

“Does it really matter if I end up alone because I’m too good or not good enough?”

 

“Absolutely. Puberty is horrible. Hell is in comparison a free stay in an all inclusive five stars vacation resort and everyone telling you it’s not is a liar. The only good thing about puberty is that it will end. You just need to keep going and once you’ve grown into your limbs you will be a great man and they will all kick themselves for not seeing all your good qualities and adorable quirks sooner and you will pick yourself a partner who really deserves and appreciates you and leave all others to rot in despair.”

 

Stiles actually laughed.

 

“Dad, you’re supposed to work, not watch cheesy love movies. I know it’s a small town, but seriously.”

 

“I _am_ serious!” the elder protested and held him tighter. Stiles just smiled and pat his back.

 

“Don’t worry, dad. I get by just fine. You’ll see, sooner or later the novelty of having a girlfriend will have worn down and Scott will remember the scrawny nerd that brought all the fun in his life and things go back to normal. Until then you’ll just be a little more stuck with me than usual. Now come on. I’ll make you breakfast before one of us starts to cry. It’s not gonna be me, just for the record.”

 

It wouldn’t. Stiles had stopped crying the day they had buried his mother and his father felt he had failed her in that, because their only son thought he was “not a good catch” and shrugged it off as if it was nothing and all the Sheriff could do about it was hold his not-so-little-anymore boy whenever he could get away with it, hope that Scott would not forget Stiles over this new girlfriend and pray that things would somehow turn out alright in the end.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

The next day Sheriff Stilinsky returned from his night shift to Stiles starring at a harmless looking brown paper bag that smelled nothing short of heavenly as if it had come straight from hell and chewed through all his comics on the way.

 

“Are that …”

 

“Yes.”

 

With raised brows Sheriff Stilinsky opened the bag and, yes, it was indeed Stile’s favourite baked goods from his favourite bakery across the town. The one they didn’t go to anymore because it was diabetes and arteries clocking in a bag. Pity that.

 

“He is _mocking_ me.”

 

The Sheriff didn’t bother asking who. Scott wasn’t exactly the type for such subtlety, bribery, yes, but not subtle, and, considering recent events, that left him with a good idea who was to blame for this.

 

Who would have thought? He might be uncomfortable with the thought of Derek Hale near his little boy for various reasons, but if it got them freshly baked goods delivered free to their house, never mind that the attention from an admittedly handsome young man – objectively speaking. He had buried his sexuality with his wife – might do Stiles’ self-esteem some good and Derek couldn’t be more trouble that Scott.

 

“Are you going to stare at it all day or will you share with your old man?”

**Author's Note:**

> I figured Stiles got a lot from his dad, I hope that shows, and I admit I was to lazy too make up Stiles' favourite baked good. Its probably something super sweet XD


End file.
